


standing in the eye of a storm we feel tonight

by leocantus



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, Smut, no really that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8607763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leocantus/pseuds/leocantus
Summary: Xander left in high spirits





	

Corrin stabs his sword into the ground and props himself up against it, panting heavily into the night air. His limbs are nothing so strong as muscle and bone now, but are about as consistent as the noodles he had dined on in Hoshido. Across from him Xander stands, perhaps breathing a little heavier, but as tall and as proud as he was when he first suggested this training, so beautiful it aches in his chest, and Corrin might hate him if Xander wasn't as gracious about it as he is. 

Xander swings his sword once, and then assumes his stance, a smile of elation on his lips. "Ready to go again, little prince?"

Corrin pulls his sword free and lifts it, testing the heft of it against the tiredness weighing down his arms, and assumes a stance of his own. "Ready when you are, brother."

He'd like to be able to say that he lasts longer in this skirmish than he has in the others, but it's over in seconds, his brother's infuriating feint and strike combination leaving him disarmed and in the dirt.

Corrin gets halfway to his feet before giving up and deciding that the ground is a good enough place to rest, to the sound of his brother's delighted laughter.

"You almost had me that time," Xander teases, leaning over Corrin's prone body.

"And now you add insult to injury. Does your cruelty know no bounds?"

Xander nudges at Corrin's with the toe of his boot. "I would hardly call you injured."

"I can assure you that my pride will never recover," Corrin says, prompting laughter from his brother once more, and if nothing else it was worth it just to hear that sound once again. It has been far too long since Xander has taken a moment for himself –- by his own admission, even -– so his heart is full today, gifted with his brother's presence and his brother's joy.

A hand appears before his face, and with a groan Corrin grabs it and allows Xander to pull him to his feet. He stumbles forward a bit, into his brother's chest, before his feet remember how to take his weight, and he contemplates just resting there, not wanting to make the daunting trip back to his quarters, but he soon musters his strength to move. He's halted by Xander's grip on his arm, and he doesn't realise how close they are until he looks up into his brother's eyes.

He recognises the look in them now, but he has yet to understand it, yet to parse it in a way that makes sense, and Corrin stands on the precipice, tension holding him still as the moment stretches for an eternity, but in the end his brother merely smiles and says, "Careful, little prince, your pride certainly would not recover from such a tumble."

Corrin shoves at his shoulder in affront, the strangest sense of disappointment in the pit of his stomach –- his own wishful thinking yet again -– and goes to fetch his sword from where Xander had sent it flying. He sheathes it, the training evidently over, and then wars with himself for a long moment before turning to his brother and saying, "Will you walk with me a moment? I know you must be busy, but I thought the night didn't have to end quite yet."

Xander lights up at the suggestion and Corrin doesn't know why that surprises him. Though his big brother must have unimaginable pressure upon him, especially of late, he's never less than pleased to see Corrin and speak with him, always willing to spend time with him. It would stand to reason that Xander must derive as much pleasure from Corrin's company as Corrin does from his.

"Yes, of course," Xander says, returning his own sword to its sheath, "Perhaps we could finish that game of chess."

It's idle conversation on the way back to his private quarters, discussing their training, their siblings, the various rumours and stories that crop up when in the company of soldiers, and before he knows it they have reached his room. Corrin takes a deep breath as he ushers Xander inside and closes the door behind them.

"What troubles you, little prince?" Xander says, unclipping his cape and loosening his sword belt to stack in the corner of the room, and Corrin darts a startled look in his direction. "If I am an open book, as you say, then the same must be said for yourself," Xander laughs, and Corrin's heart thuds within his chest. 

"Earlier, outside after we had finished training, why did you stare at me so?" Corrin says, countering with a question of his own, and Xander's gaze slides away.

"A private matter," Xander begins, and it shocks Corrin to realise that it's anxiety that drives Xander to dither in that corner, searching for a means to occupy his gaze, "one that I need not trouble you with."

"We are brothers," Corrin replies, and to his horror his voice wavers slightly. He loosens his own sword and cape, as much to give his own hands something to do as it is to get comfortable, and sets them aside. "It should be that we are able to tell each other anything." 

Xander's next smile is wry, conceding. "You have the right of it, little prince. And I did promise to be more forthcoming, did I not?"

Indecision stays his steps for a couple of seconds, but then Corrin crosses the room to his brother's side, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You have often told me that you are always on my side and nothing could ever change that. I hope you know the same can be said for me."

Xander shuts his eyes, as though the words have caused him pain, and then his expression sharpens – or rather it firms with the look to someone who has reached a decision. Xander reaches up to squeeze the hand that rests on his shoulder and says, "Then I pray that you'll forgive me for what is to follow."

Xander slides an arm around his waist but that is a dull, remote thing because Xander's other hand cups his face and Xander's mouth is on his and Corrin clutches at his brother, shocked, lips parted with it, as Xander takes and takes and takes.

It's Corrin who pulls away, stumbling back a couple of steps in his shock, hand pressed to his mouth as though seeking evidence that the kiss had really happened, heart beating double time in his chest. Hope, long thought extinguished, sparks to being inside him; he'd buried such feelings a long time ago but... 

Before him, Xander stands, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, resignation already shaping his features, so Corrin steps forward once more and grabs hold of his brother's hand, his grip desperate.

"Truly?" Xander's not one to play such games, but Corrin never expected to get all he wanted, and he searches his brother's eyes for the truth. "You feel it too?"

Xander's eyes widen, and his hand shakes this time as he raises it to rest against Corrin's cheek. 

"Never in a thousand years did I ever think—" Xander cuts himself off, voice rough, hoarse with emotion, and now it's elation that causes his heart to pound in his chest. "How long?" Xander says, eyes searching Corrin's face.

Corrin laughs a little, rueful. "How long have I stared after my big brother, hoping against hope that he might notice me as something more? For as long as I knew what such things were, brother." 

Xander's response isn't verbal, though he still makes great use of his mouth, tugging Corrin up into another kiss, desire having broken through the shock that had held him frozen before. Xander's mouth is ravenous, like a starving man led to a banquet, but Corrin is right there, able to keep up for once, panting into the hot spaces between their mouths before kissing him again, all consuming. Their armour is a barrier between them, but Xander seems content to live on his mouth, teeth on his lip, tongue against his, careful hands holding him in place.

He doesn't realise they've been moving until his back thuds into the wall and Xander presses against his front, arms braced either side of him as though Xander fears that Corrin might try to escape, mouth moving hungrily against his. Corrin breaks away to gasp for breath, and Xander takes the offering, mouth dragging over his jaw, teeth set to his throat, and the sensation just makes him pant harder, arching up into Xander's hands and mouth as pleasure like lightning jumps down his spine. It's only his brother's mouth on him, hands remaining above the waist if anywhere, and already Corrin feels as though he is burning up. Part of him is still not convinced that this isn't a dream, that he's not about to wake sweaty and sticky, a hand shoved down his shorts, but if that is the case then Corrin has lost nothing, can at least have another fantasy to lock tightly away.

It doesn't feel much like an illusion to him; the sting of Xander's teeth set to skin is new, as is the low noise of pleasure he makes as Corrin, frantic, tugs him away from his throat, away from the spot that makes him pant, mindless with need, and up into another kiss. His brother's hands still remain pressed to the wall either side of him, only his mouth keeping Corrin pinned in place, yet he is already devastated, thinks he might go up in flames if his brother dropped a hand to his cheek, his hip, curled his fingers around his thigh.

He understands now the words that his men use to describe their encounters because Corrin feels it too: a cavernous hunger in the pit of his belly that can only be satisfied by his brother's mouth on his, his body against his, and Corrin's hands tremble where they fumble for the catches and buckles on Xander's armour, trying to get it off so he can be closer.

Xander's hands close over his wrists, stopping them in place, and Xander drags his mouth reluctantly away, kiss lingering, clinging, eyes fluttering open to gaze at Corrin, an apology in his eyes. "The hour grows late," he says, breath coming hard, and Corrin's head tips back against the wall with a faint moan, neck muscles suddenly loose, trying to drag air back into his lungs. The air is scorched, hot with tension with Xander this close, and Corrin feels almost lightheaded with it, dizzy and breathless, and he doesn't wish to stop. 

Still, though it is difficult to think why with his brother pressed against him in such a way, Corrin can recognise the sense in stopping. 

"I should take my leave," Xander continues, thumb stroking a line of fire over the back of Corrin's hand and he shudders, fighting against the urge to arch into the body in front of him, to offer himself up.

"Yes," Corrin says instead, nodding in a jerky motion, gaze caught in Xander's, "We—it's an early start, tomorrow; we have much to do."

Xander eyes burn where they look on Corrin, heavy-lidded with desire, intent like a caress on his skin. "Until tomorrow, then," he says, but he has yet to move, and when Corrin opens his mouth, intending to bid Xander good night, what comes out instead is "Brother, please," voice low, needy, eyes flickering from Xander's eyes to his mouth and back again. Xander wets his lips, and then Corrin's, parting them with his tongue, and then they're kissing again, frantic and hot, and this time Xander doesn't stop Corrin when he goes for his armour, Xander's own nimble fingers making quick work of Corrin's. 

Soon enough their armour is in pieces on the floor and Corrin is sprawled out on his bed, laid there by Xander, who wastes no time in climbing on after him, bearing him down into the mattress, legs tangled together. 

"I must have truly pleased the gods to be granted such a gift," Xander says, with over brimming fondness, mouth seeking his for another kiss. They're quite practised at it now, slotting together with ease, mouth opening up under the slightest pressure, lips parting eagerly for Xander's tongue. Corrin's hands hover over Xander's waist for a long while before he allows them to rest there, splayed against his sides, his port in a storm. He's spent so long reminding himself to not let his looks or touches linger the way he would like them to, that even after the long kisses shared this evening, it's hard to imagine that he can have this.

Xander seems to luxuriate under his touch anyway, humming against his mouth as Corrin anchors him in place, weight propped up on one elbow so he can cup Corrin's face, fan his thumb against his cheek, and devour his mouth, and Corrin twists and arches under him, trying to get closer, tipping his head back, panting and lightheaded, throat bared, wanting Xander's lips on his jaw, teeth set to skin, in that manner that makes him shiver. Xander doesn't disappoint, and Corrin can't hold back the high, breathless noises that spill out, the pleas for more. His hands slide over the small of Xander's back, seeking skin under his vest and shirt, pressing down just as he arches upwards, and his next exhale is a sob at the barest hint of relief, arousal like a deep ache in his body.

Xander makes a low, rough sound, right in his ear, and Corrin stutters over his next words. "D-Does it please you as well, brother?"

Xander's hand goes searching for a way under Corrin's clothes as well, and it's a though a charge runs through him, a shock of power, where skin meets skin. Xander bares his chest slowly, dipping down to bring his mouth to every newly bared inch of skin, and Corrin stuffs a hand in his mouth to stifle his loud, shocked moans. "Little prince," Xander breathes into his skin between kisses, and for the first time that name thrills him, hooks behind his ribs and _pulls_ , "you bring me the greatest of pleasures."

"Then," Corrin gasps, unmoored for a second, hand fluttering between the blanket beneath him and the back of Xander's head, "how should I please you this evening, brother?"

"Like this," Xander answers immediately, voice hoarse, "just like this." His eyes are wide and dark peering up at him, all brown consumed until only a thin ring remains. Corrin pants, fingers once again at his mouth to dam the flow of noise as Xander's mouth lands low on his stomach, just above the waistband of his breeches, and his stomach muscles jump in response.

"Let me have you, like this," Xander says, and his hands are at the laces of his breeches, deftly pulling them apart, and then tugging his pants and underclothes away until his cock is bared, hard and flushed, the tip already slick. Xander wastes no time dropping his mouth to it, lips parting around the head, and there is no way his hand will be enough to stifle any of the noises welling up in his throat because Corrin didn't think it was possible for something to feel this good. 

His head drops back, neck muscles suddenly not enough to support it, but the image of Xander between his thighs, hand pressed to his hip, mouth stretched obscenely around his erection has been seared into his memory, is the image that plays out behind his closed lids as he twists and arches and tries desperately not to thrust upwards into Xander's welcoming mouth.

He lets one hand land in Xander's hair, gently, still hesitant yet but with more confidence as Xander's mouth rewards him for his boldness. He doesn't have the wherewithal to control Xander's actions, too busy shivering at the way Xander's mouth moves over him, with the same hunger shown all night, but with something solid under his hand, Corrin feels less like he's about to come to ruin under the decadence of his brother's touch. Still, Xander is very practiced at this, tongue wicked against the sensitive head of his cock, mouth soft and wet and open, taking him in completely, and Corrin is on the edge in no time at all.

"Brother, please," Corrin says, words forced out in desperation, jerking at the teasing touches of tongue that draw him ever closer to coming, and he's sure that if it were possible his brother would smiling smug at him. There is a heat building in him, molten in the pit of his stomach, and Corrin's hand twists and tugs at Xander's hair, hesitation forgotten, almost sobbing in with pleasure when Xander takes mercy on him and takes his cock back into the furnace of his mouth, and then it only takes mere moments before the heat coalesces and Corrin tips over the edge.

The room is silent, save for Corrin's heavy breathing. The wet sound of Xander sliding his mouth away is shockingly loud this way, causes an echo is want to sound in Corrin's lax body, even as it leaves him feeling mortified at the liberties he had taken: hand still snarled in his brother's hair, his come coating the inside of his mouth. Corrin's cheeks burn even more once he spies his brother's pleased expression, satisfaction in the curve of his lips.

Pleasure drags at his limbs, but Corrin aches to return to favour, and he tugs at his brother's vest, wanting him close again. They fall into their next kiss, and Corrin starts when he realises that sharpness lacing their kisses now is the taste of himself on his brother's tongue. Xander is breathing heavy, ragged against Corrin's mouth, and even more so when Corrin trails his hands down his brother's chest, slips them beneath his waistband to get his hand on his cock, hard and slick beneath his touch.

Something in him lights up at this: at his name that's nothing more than a harsh exhale from Xander's lips, at the restless movements of his body, arching into his, at the hand pressing bruises into his skin, an indelible mark. Something in him says _yes_ , his whole body singing with it, and now it's his turn to be smug, to have satisfaction curl through him as Xander loses his composure with each pull of his hand, and if Corrin is never given anything else ever again in his life, at least he will have the memory of Xander groaning his name in his ear, shocked by his own pleasure, as he spills himself all over Corrin's hand.

The room stills for a second, holding its breath, and then Xander smiles down at him, gaze heavy lidded with a base satisfaction, yes, but also with something warmer, deeper. His clothes already stained, Corrin wipes his hand on his shirt and rights his clothes as Xander sits back and does the same. His brother could almost pass for normal, his uncanny ability to appear unruffled at all times unparalleled, if not for the redness of his lips, swollen and bruised on Corrin's own cock, and the thought is enough to for him to flush with arousal anew, as though Xander's touch has broken the dam and now some of his more heated thoughts are free to circle his mind unchecked.

Xander's smile says he knows it too, but Corrin can't bring himself to suffer the embarrassment too deeply, knowing all that he knows now about his brother.

Such as how much he enjoys kisses the best, and Corrin tilts his head up to meet Xander's mouth, the kiss slow, drugging, rich like the finest of wines and Corrin's hands clutch at Xander's shirt, wanting nothing but this, needing nothing but this ever again.

Which is why when Xander combs his fingers through his hair and drops another kiss on Corrin's lips -- a final kiss, a goodnight kiss -- though he knows it to be necessary, it doesn't stop his body from feeling cold at the loss, his hands reluctant to let go even as Xander slips away. He props himself up on one elbow, watching as Xander gathers his cape and sword, smoothes down his hair into some semblance of order, and then returns to the bed for one more kiss goodbye. 

"Until tomorrow, little prince."

Corrin's breathing stutters, and he's slightly breathless when he says, "Until tomorrow, brother." He waits, held in place until his brother heads for the door –- watching, waiting maybe -– and then all tension drains from him at once as the door closes behind Xander, dropping him back onto his bed. His heart is still racing, giddiness raising his pulse now where arousal had before. 

He wants nothing more than to sleep now, to replay his night in his mind, relive the feeling of his brother's mouth, his touch, and too tired to clean up properly, Corrin drops his soiled clothing to the floor beside his bed and crawls beneath the blankets. He aches for his brother as always, all too aware of his absence, but it's a different kind of pain that thrums through him now; sweeter, one of anticipation.

Corrin buries his smile in his pillow and lets himself drift. The hour grows late after all and it's an early start tomorrow. There's a lot to do, and Corrin can hardly wait.


End file.
